Why I Chose to Hike the Andes Mountains

I'm getting married this weekend. Still not sure what to think of it. Sometimes I'm excited, other times I'm scared. A lot of times I'm just weirded out.

Usually I'm a visionary guy. I like to plan, rearrange future events in my mind over and over till they fit just right, then throw some gas and a match on the whole thing and start over again. I'm learning that my ability to do this relies largely on a similar event I can use as a reference. I've not yet had sex, I've never had to live with one person day after day (other than family) for more than a months time, I've never had to continually share a bed with someone, and I've never felt the pressure of someone else's well being so closely connected to my decisions. As a result, everything after Saturday 7pm (when the wedding starts) is a black abyss that my mind cannot comprehend.

I suppose I've been given glimpses by other married people.

"Oh boy, you sure you want to do this?"

"Hey, marriage is great!"

"Marriage is an institution, I would rather not be institutionalized."

"After the first night on our honeymoon I remember thinking. I'm hungry."

My landlord is quite experienced at marriage, he has had five. He said congratulations (sort of) and asked if my air conditioning still worked fine.

I have this vague idea that the first couple of weeks will be great, then at some point someone will get cabin fever and mutiny. Eventually our selfishness will need to be tried and hanged, then it will start all over again.

I had a friend say that marriage will show you just how selfish you are... really fast.

I'm sure he's right. I know that's not why God made up the idea of marriage, he did after all make us as not so selfish people, but I bet he likes it when we more deeply realize, "wow, I cause problems when I try to get my own way."

I'm looking forward to marriage. Sort of in the way that I looked forward to hiking the Andes in Bolivia. At first there was this sense of awe and infatuation that one gets when he tells people that he will be hiking the Andes mountains. As you begin there is this sense of accomplishment that yes you will be hiking the Andes mountains. Three hours into the ordeal you say to yourself, why did I ever want to hike the Andes mountains? Then you step over a ridge, see a mountain lake, run to it, sit on the rocks as the sun sets over the Andes mountains and think, this is why I hiked the Andes mountains. Had I sat at my house in Cochabamba, I would not have endured pain, nor would I have enjoyed one of the greatest memories of my life.

So here's my prediction. Lots of selfishness and difficulties as I try to live with another messy human being, highlighted by some of the greatest joys with the deepest human relationship I'll ever have. Maybe some day we'll go hike the Andes mountains together.

I Love You Courtney, I'm looking forward to sharing the rest of my life with you!

A Snapshot

The limitations of pictures depress me. Someone will come back from a trip to Tibet, show you a picture of Everest, then expect you to be overwhelmed with the immensity of their 4x6 piece of paper with ink on it. If this really worked, no one would need to go vacation in Tibet anymore. I am equally depressed when I look at pictures from my past, that no longer have their emotional power. The memories have faded, so the picture is now just an image.

I feel frustrated trying to relay my relationship with God to others. I want them to understand how awesome the snapshot I'm showing them is. "Isn't Jesus so cool!" Sorry, cool is a trite way to describe the most significant part of my existence.

"Yea, Jason. That's a nice picture. Very neat."

Sometimes when people think the picture is insignificant, that means the thing itself is too.

Pictures do have the ability to peak peoples interest. Like when I drove through Nebraska. I had seen pictures of Chimney Rock and Scotts bluff. They didn't seem all that exciting, but I was within thirty minutes anyway, why not check them out? The pictures weren't powerful, but sitting there, looking across Scotts bluff, the rest of the plain standing in contrast to the rocks, it was surreal. I definitely want to go back. The picture gave me a push to go see what I was already close to.

I'm grateful that following Jesus isn't about my perfection. for reasons I won't say, I am quite aware of my potential to be a disgusting person. I feel like one of those pictures where someone stuck their thumb halfway over the lens.

If my relationship with God were a picture, I would hope it looks something like a child stained in mud, being hugged by his father unashamedly.

In Control?

I'm listening to the rain. It's drawing my mind back to days where I actually took time to stop and listen to it.

Once in Virginia I was leaned up against a white wooden fence watching a thunderhead press up against the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was July 3rd. I just sat there, gazing at the dark cloud lined in a thin grayish white steam, ignoring one of the nursing home resident's pleas for me to come back inside.

As I stood there, I checking to make sure I was shorter than and far enough from the surrounding trees to avoid being struck, looking back just in time to see a lightning bolt cut a jagged path. I watched it connect with a grove of trees. There was a strange anticipating silence. Then, faintly, I heard the sound of a breaking branch, followed by one of the the loudest waves of sound and emotion I had felt in a long time. My body moved from a sense of serene calm to immense fear as the wall hit me.

Aside from the thought that I might mess my pants, I felt small.

In a moment this lightning strike changed my perspective on existence and the universe. Whatever I planned to do could straightway be checked by some random act of nature's amoral violence.

I have some friends who lost their mother this way. She was walking back to the house with a trash can when on a clear day. Her life ended in a flash. This woman had cooked me a meal two months prior.

We tend to think we control our circumstance, like we have things figured out. Even if we feel limited, we at least feel in control of our immediate surroundings. It turns out even our mastery of taking out the trash is subject to something frighteningly more powerful than we are.

Finding Beauty

I am eating lunch at the brew, noticing styles in clothing. There are at least five different fashion statements in this room: white trash wife beater tucked into shorts; conservative Mennonite with bonnet covering; fifty five year old wearing a flowery blouse and some added youthful flair of a ankle bracelet; ex-Amish trying to disguise himself as a normal Englishman; and a guy in a casual t-shirt and cargo shorts.

I myself am wearing a grey hat -'scene' is the style I'm told- a simple logo t-shirt, cargo shorts and sandals. I obviously selected my clothes for 'appeal' more than function -I am after all wearing a hat inside.

Last summer I wore the same pants (don't worry I washed them) for six weeks... no one noticed. Do people really care as much as we think they do? Is it really worth $150 a month for me to feel better about my image, so that people I don't even want to talk to will notice me more? For the record I don't spend $150 a month on clothing. I don't think I've spent $150 in the past year.

I'm not against 'dressing up' or wanting to have neat clothing, or even 'fashionable' clothing; but how much time do we really spend obsessing about our image externally as opposed to our internal image. I know very beautiful people who are royal... jerks...

Some of the most beautiful people I know aren't too fashionable. They put on things like compassion, patience, love, and usually common sense. They aren't too full of themselves that they have to avoid going out of the house without first taking a half hour to make themselves 'acceptable.'

Like I said, it's fine to care about what you wear, but care more about who you really are, not what other people see on the outside.

The Things You Don't Regret A Month From Now

Today started at 4am, then 4:07am At 4:14am I stopped hitting snooze. My body hated me for being awake. Murray, my little pug, didn't even want to get out of bed yet.

Why did I not get to bed earlier last night?

Oh yea, friendships. Leo came over and we chatted, shared struggles, had a drink, laughed together, talked about Jesus. Courtney joined us, then Jordan. After a while Arlen came from accross the street. We sat on the porch till midnight, talking about faith and spontanious human combustion.

At one point Leonard said, "I better get to bed or I'm going to regret this in the morning." My reply was, "Yes, but will you regret it a month from now."

Sometimes what hurts a bit now, becomes a thing of beauty with time.

Confessions of a Latte Club Card: It Is Not Just Time That Heals All Wounds

I'm sipping on my iced cappuccino waiting for a youtube video of Donald Miller to load. A couple just walked in the door. The girl looks normal enough, the guy has hair that resembles a matted rat with dreadlocks. A woman in her fifties, who is trying to dress like she is thirty two, keeps cupping her hand to the window pane in the door looking for someone. A man who I assume is her husband, whom I also assume she is looking for, comes up behind her and taps her on the shoulder. She just about head buts the door in surprise, then laughs as she realizes it was him. Some music resembling Aretha Franklin drones in the background. Just another day at the Electric Brew. If your ever in Downtown Goshen, Indiana I recommend their chai, but only if Michelle is working. She makes a good chai.

There is a ragged tan business card in my wallet with little holes punched all along the side. I am one little coffee cup punch away from a free mixed drink of some sort. I've been working on this card for a while.

I need to start taking notes on my card, just a line or two. Something to record what happened with that cup of coffee. I really wish I would have thought of this from the beginning. This card has seen a lot.

Last night my card was present for something beautiful. Three friends, laughing at Leonard's house while watching Sabrina. It may never happen again, I don't know; but it was beautiful. I'm not really going to describe why other than this: It represented healing in something previously broken.

It takes a lot of punched holes in a Latte Club Card to bring healing. Some require tears, others anger, others forgiveness, most of them confusion, all of them prayer.

No friendship broken, no marriage hurting, no wound is beyond healing. If we find the humility. Many passionately pray for physical healing, but lack the fervor in praying for broken hearts or arthritic compassion that have plagued them and others for years. In some sense, physical healing is easier. Physical healing brings wholeness without me needing to confront my selfishness, or admit that I was wrong. Physical healing is easy to talk about "God healed my arthritis!" but to say the same about relational healing, even my rejoicing points out that I was dysfunctional.

C.S. Lewis said that no one can love in any form without being hurt. Because of death, because of selfishness, because of sin I will at some point be let down in some way by the ones I love. I know that someday if I marry, I or my spouse will day, causing pain, yet I invest in love.

Invest in Love today, even towards those who may now be your enemies, even though they may not respond to that love. Jesus said "as much as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone." Committed love may not always see the healing result, but without it there is no chance.

There is no greater representation of the heart of God than healed relationships. The more you experience them, the more you experience the heart of the Father.

Murray

I got a dog. He's a pug. The kind that is so horrendous that you can't help but find it adorable. One of the great oxymoron's of the universe. God has a sense of humor.

Murray's first day went well. He mostly sniffed around the house and gathered information regarding his new surroundings.

Pugs are co-dependent, they thrive on being around people. If I am in the living room, Murray is in the living room. This morning when I took a shower, he just sat there and stared at the shower curtain, I know because I checked.... several times. I felt bad so I sang him a song. Murray peed on the carpet, right in front of me, so I put him in the kitchen while I practiced guitar. When I went to check on him he went nuts because he had missed me so much. I'm beginning to feel suffocated, this dog is always there, watching me. Get a freakin life you mut!

I really do like the dog, and things are less lonely in the morning at my place. It's fun to watch him be a dog. I'm over dramatizing about my suffocation, though I strangely feel like this furry monstrosity is invading my personal space.

I need to be more like Murray, a little more... a lot more dependent on being around God all the freaking time. Shouldn't I go nuts with excitement when God comes around after being gone (or at least my feeling like he's been gone) for a while. I'm glad God doesn't feel suffocated by my presence.

I'm really not a huge fan of cute little stories that illustrate a cute little truth about a cute little God, I hope this isn't one of those.

Prayer for the day: Dad, make me like a little co-dependent butt ugly pug who stares at the shower curtain.